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That same afternoon, while Luke responded to calls, Carrie was working at home.

She’d revised concepts for the Los Angeles Metro campaign, which she was leading, summarizing next stages. Nearby, Emily played, watching Sesame Street . Later, while Emily napped, Carrie joined a video conference. But during the meeting, Carrie had battled to stay focused on the Metro project.

Opal’s allegations had shaken her.

As Carrie struggled to concentrate after her work session had ended, her computer chimed. She’d received new photos and a message from Pearl, who was staying in Perth, Australia, before sailing for Bali.

Hi Honey: It’s been a beautiful cruise so far. But I can’t help worrying about what’s going on in Clear River. Vern won’t answer me. Is he OK? Are you OK?

Keeping things from her aunt broke Carrie’s heart. Pearl had been like a mother to her, but Carrie wanted her to enjoy her time on the other side of the world. All she could manage was: Don’t worry. Enjoy your cruise. We’re doing fine. Everything’s OK.

Her thoughts swirling, Carrie clenched her eyes.

In recent days, since visiting the dance hall and returning to the school, she’d recovered more fragments of her memory. Different, seemingly disparate pieces were forming a picture.

A horrifying picture of the truth.

The only way I can complete the picture is if I—

The doorbell’s chime yanked her from ruminating. Going to the monitor for the front door camera, she recognized Denise Diaz on the step, tapping her phone to her leg.

Carrie knew what was coming, knew full well why Denise was standing at her door.

I can’t run away from it.

Carrie opened the door. Not wanting to wake Emily, she kept her voice low. “What is it, Denise?”

“Hi, Carrie. Listen, sorry to come here without warning, but we need to talk. I need your reaction.”

“To what?”

Denise looked around. “Do you want to do this here?”

“Yes, and I only have a moment. My daughter’s asleep.”

Quickly, Denise explained how Opal Wells had reached out to her, what she had claimed.

“Yes, so?” Carrie said, failing to conceal the worry behind her eyes.

Repositioning her grip on the strap of her bag, Denise raised her phone and showed Carrie photos. Franklin’s quote filling her screen.

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.

Denise swiped to the handwritten note praising it.

Carrie knew the printing was hers.

“Carrie,” Denise said, “given the timing of this note, given the context of your confrontation with Abby and Erin prior to the murders, and given how your injury hampered your memory, I need to know, on the record , what is your reaction to this?”

The vein in Carrie’s jawline pulsed.

“We were kids at the time…”

Carrie’s face was ashen; she was staring, not at the present, but as if she were seeing the past.

“Excuse me?” Denise asked. “Is that your response?”

“Why are you doing this? Hyde confessed.” Carrie bit her bottom lip. “You can’t read anything into that dumb note because it’s a coincidence, just a silly coincidence.”

“That’s your reaction?”

“I really can’t remember much. I’m sorry.”

“Then let me ask you about your father’s visit to death row to see Hyde—”

Carrie shook her head. “I think I hear my daughter. I have to go.”

“But, Carrie?”

“That’s all I can tell you.”

Carrie retreated into her home and shut the door, and Denise returned to her car.

Before starting the engine, she looked at Carrie’s house for a long time, thinking that she was closer to exhuming a secret about what really happened in those woods, hopeful she might see the answers she was looking for.